Saint At Heart
by GallifreyLives
Summary: Gang warfare continues in Stillwater, it's all Natalie Marsh has ever known. But the world of gangs and the Third Street Saints becomes all too close after her mother's death and she finds herself wth closer connections to the group than she'd ever though were possible, all down to her mysteriously absent father.


_**Hey guys so here's the first draft chapter of my new story, based on Saints Row: The Third. If you haven't played any of these games I seriously recommend you do so! They are simply epic. Anyways, reado on, and if you like what you read and want me to carry on, leave me a review!**_

 _Chapter One_

It was an impossible feat for anyone who lived in Stillwater to not know of the Third Street Saints. Their corporate icons had soared and their fame was now unlimited. But with the Saints in the height of celebrity endorsement, everyday gang crime still lingered in Stillwater. It was as common as dealers in the streets. South Stillwater High was no exception to this. Although the faculty had made a move to tackle the issue, the student body found subtle ways to express their flags. It was through small items such as an orange bandanna wrapped around a wrist, a blue patch sown into jackets, or white stars inked on folders and desks. The Saints had trail-blazed the way for more gangs in Stillwater.

Natalie Marsh slammed her locker shut – the signs of the former owner's gang preference was now covered with stickers from Freckle Bitches and other logos. Gym bag in hand, Nat made her way to the girls locker room for the ninth grade session. She counted maybe sixteen everyday items people used to show their allegiance and flags. When she arrived in the locker room, one girl was inhaling a can of the energy drink sponsored by the Saints.

The Saints was the hierarchy for any gang to aspire to. Nat herself knew plenty of stories of the Saints, but they all dated back to before their nation-wide fame had peaked. The reason behind this was down to Nat's mother, a former Saint herself. Kaitlyn Marsh had hung around the Third Street Saints in her late teens, back when the Vice Kings were involved with producers, and the Rollerz raced in every street in their area. Now Kaitlyn Marsh was a night club waitress, but when drunk, would happily talk about all the times she'd pulled a trigger or smoked so much a hippy would be sick. But her life there ended abruptly. When first questioned about it, Kaitlyn claimed to have dropped flags to avoid the street wars which were becoming out of hand with the Saints in the middle. But Nat had other ideas as to her mothers departure from the Third Street area, and it had something to do with another Saint and her mother becoming unable to fit into her purple tank tops.

'Marsh, pick it up!' The coach's whistle shrilled and Nat moved her feet, sneakers skidding as she chased the basketball along the court. A girl in front had her hair tied up with an orange ribbon, so Nat found herself unfazed when the girls fist found its way onto the jaw of another who had a blue patch stitched on her gym shorts. A small splatter of blood streaked across the polished floor, and the basketball rolled out of sight as more punches were thrown. Nat watched unblinking as the nose of the girl with the orange ribbon exploded in a puff of blood, a splatter reaching Nat's trainers. Gore was common in the south side of Stillwater, and if she was honest, she enjoyed watching it.

Gym was cut early as a result, and as Nat made her way home, she didn't truly appreciate the aftermath of gang violence until she unlocked the front door of her home and came face to face with it personally.

Even with a stripper less than five feet from him, Johnny Gat's eyes didn't move from his cell phone. He read the article slowly, his bottle of beer half way to his lips, now forgotten.

'Shit.' He muttered, glancing at the dancing girl before standing from his seat. With fame came better living conditions. The Saints had upgraded from old churches and underground hotels to living high above the surface. And their new safe house housed enough alcohol and enough ammunition to make even a psychopath such as Gat comfortable.

'Pierce,' Gat said, coming to a halt besides his fellow Saint. Pierce was emerged in the dance a particularly slim stripper was performing. 'Pierce?' With no response, Johnny simply knocked Pierce's beer from his hand and held back a small smile as the foamy liquid seeping into Pierce's loafers took the Saint from his trance.

'The fuck you do that for bro, these babies are new!'

'Stop bitching and come with me.' Johnny was all too aware of his boss watching over them. The boss preferred to stand along the balcony and watch his empire party from afar. And right now, Johnny felt the need to speak away from his closest friend's ears. Johnny led Pierce from the party room, Pierce angling back to look at the stripper before they rounded a corner. Stepping down a level, Johnny showed Pierce into a room which was maybe Johnny's favourite – the gun room. He didn't question the sex toy lying on the crate of shotguns as he peered around the doorway, hoping their boss had not noticed their departure.

'Man what's with this sneaking about shit?' Pierce asked. Johnny pulled out his cell and began digging through its memory to find an old photo he'd downloaded when he upgraded.

'You recognise this chick?' He tossed the phone to Pierce, who studied it briefly.

'Nay man, but she's hot. Them legs.' Pierce smacked his lips and Johnny took back the phone.

'Good. I thought if anyone around here would know her it would be you. She's dead.'

'Pretty hot for a dead lady. What's this about?' Johnny wanted to rub his eyes beneath his glasses badly, but restrained.

'She used to be a Saint. She's dead now, but I was just checking up, the boss can't know, alright? Who knows how he'll-'

'How I'll what, Johnny.' At that moment, Johnny would have happily gone on a shooting rampage with all the guns in the room to avoid answering that question.

'Its nothing, boss. Yeah?' Johnny said as his leader and fellow Saint stepped further into the room. His strong face was in a friendly smile, but Johnny had known this budding sociopath too long to know that the smile was just a tactic. The guy rarely smiled if he wasn't drunk or shooting someone.

'Oh really?' The boss said, leaning against the door frame casually. 'Pierce?'

'Yo man, Johnny's just pissed about some dead gal he found.' Again, Johnny would have happily gone on a rampage with every gun in the room.

'Beat it Pierce, and take your dildo with you.' The boss nodded to the crate of shotguns, and Pierce began mumbling curses under his breath and he left. The boss strode into the room, hands in his pockets, and faced Johnny.

'Give it to me, Johnny.'

'Listen, playa, its nothing for you to-'

'Give me the damn phone Johnny.' The hand was outstretched, and Johnny slowly handed it over. If he did not know better, he would have said that his boss had frozen the moment he cast eyes on the old photo on Johnny's phone.

'Delete it now.' The boss tossed the phone back to Johnny, and began to leave the room.

'Boss, hey, we need to talk about this! She's-'

'I don't care, Johnny. I stopped caring, doubt I ever did care.' The boss shrugged casually, heading back upstairs and placing himself in the office. Johnny followed straight behind him, noting how Pierce had returned his full attention to the stripper without any issue.

'Don't bullshit me, playa. I know you better than anyone in this place. And I know how you were with her.'

'Drop it Gat, before I dig a hole and bury you in it.' The boss relaxed into a chair, but his eyes were cast sideways, away from Johnny.

'Stop being a goddamn diva and here me out.' The boss turned his head and locked eyes with Johnny. 'You can play the tough guy all you want, now, someone shot her down. It was pretty obvious she flew Saints flags, and now someone is trying to break us down from the outside.'

'Yeah well it ain't gonna work. Kaitlyn left years ago, and I couldn't give a shit. And don't call me a diva again.'

'Fine, I'll call you a pussy then.' The boss let out the smallest of chuckles before becoming stony faced again. 'But listen, boss, whoever posted about her being gunned down, also posted that Kaitlyn, well, she had a kid.' Johnny wasn't sure what to expect, but not even the smallest flinch moved across the bosses face.

'So what?' He finally said. 'Kait left and screwed some other guys and popped one out. Big fucking surprise there, Johnny.'

'Don't be a douche, boss. This could be your kid.' Johnny dared to say it, sitting down atop the desk. 'Someone taking the Saints down by taking down you. It'll explain why Kait bailed on us.' Johnny reminisced about how withdrawn the boss had become when Kait disappeared from his life.

'Bullshit, Johnny. Kait just moved on with her life and got shot down, probably some dealer she owed money to.' Johnny shook his head, watching as the boss took a swing of beer from a bottle.

'Stop being a damn pussy and face this boss, this ain't some random shit, hell, I bet even Pierce could have pieced this together!'

'Drop it Johnny. Now.' The two Saints stared each other down, and Johnny was taken aback when the boss broke away first, turning his head to look back out of the window across Stillwater.

'Fine, trade your dick in, damn bastard.'

'Crazy shithead.' The boss muttered as Johnny stormed from the office. Johnny took the express elevator down to the garage of the building, and was happy to see at least two handguns in the glove compartment. He keyed the engine and the car shot out of the ground in a streak of sleek purple.

The cops had nothing. Other than red. A neighbour saw a man wearing black and red leave the building just after the estimated time of death. Red. Another flag.

Nat curled up on her bed as the cops poked around the house she and her mother lived. It was a pit, really. The pay cheques from being a waitress in a nightclub didn't offer luxury living. If it was a gang hit, she didn't understand it – no one had claimed red in Stillwater for years. Not to mention her mother didn't have any flags anymore. The purple had long since burnt. Stepping up from her bed, Nat cracked the door open and watched the cops in her living room, all talking in low voices. Even the chief had come down.

Chief of Police Troy Bradshaw was looking over the spot where Nat had found her mother, with a bullet in the back. And several in the head. There was a far away look in his eyes, as if piecing together an invisible puzzle. Nat watched silently as another cop walked up to the chief and they began a discussion.

'Get the kid outta here,' The chief said. 'If this is what I think it is, she's next.'

'You think this is gotta do with the Saints, don't you? Is that leader of theirs in you head again, Troy?' At this, as if sensing her, both cops looked up towards Nat at her door. Troy was studying her face intensely, and Nat decided to disappear. She slowly closed the bedroom door. Beyond her window, the evening skies had drawn in, and her bedroom was slowly wrapped in the peace of night.

She made her decision instantly. Nat tipped out the remains of her school gym bag and collected a few new items – clothes, and the odd piece that held sentimentality – then pushed the window up, just as there was a knock on her door.

Climbing down the guttering was not a challenge if you had enough practise, so Nat landed in her yard with ease. As she climbed over the fence, she heard the tell-tale sound of her bedroom lock being busted open, and saw Chief Bradshaw's face in her window just as she leapt down from the fence.

She didn't stop running. There were no sounds of sirens or calls, only the rattle of the overground trains above her head, their lights dancing on the apartment blocks, as she wandered around the down town areas of Stillwater. Hands buried deep in her pockets, hood pulled up, gym bag slung across her back, Nat did not know in what direction her feet were taking, just that home was now far off forever. In this end of the south side, homelessness was common; tramps gathered around burning drums on scrub land as she passed. Nat thought about her cold feet and chilled face, contemplating joining her. But the Chief's words rung in her ears. Whoever had killed her mother might be coming after her. She should stay low. There was too much criminal activity in this part of Stillwater to not know what to do.

Nat made the decision to make her way towards the industrial side of town. Old factories were always the best place to hide out in. Her trainers from Sloppy Seconds rubbed the back of her heels, and the nights chill had wormed its way into her jacket by the time crossed the rail lines. To her side, a car shot by, headlights dazzling, and engine purring in frenzy. From beneath her hood, Nat saw the driver glance at her before driving off. More paranoid, she stuck to the slips between buildings, ignoring cat calls and drunken slurs.

One wrong turn is what took her in the direction of the seedy nightclubs and strip bars. Nat peered out from behind a corner as a similar car passed by again, headlights flashing. Her face was caught in the glare before she quickly backed back down the alleyway.

'Where you goin darlin?' Arm in a grip lock, Nat looked up at the gang of men that had just come out of the back entrance of a club. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they reeked of booze.

'Piss off.'

'Hey, play nice.' One said, before belching and laughing at himself. The one holding her arm manoeuvred her towards the wall.

'Come on, don'tcha wanna have some fun? We'll play nice.' Another one started sniggering, and Nat pushed the one holding her arm into his companions.

'Fucking bitch – hey!'

A swipe under the legs and Nat's face met the damp ground, gravel ripping her chin, her blonde hair becoming streaked with the filth on the ground. One had a hold of her legs, despite her constant kicks and stream of curses. One made the move to hold her down at the torso when a bullet ripped into his chest. They all froze as the blood spouted onto his shirt and he collapsed. Another gunshot cracked in the air, narrowly missing the head of the guy holding Nat's legs. She turned from her position on the ground to watch the guys run, their friend lying on the ground besides her in a puddle of blood. Small splatters had reached her face, and she stared wide-eyed at the dead figure.

'You okay kid?' Nat's head turned and found the man holding the gun. Scrambling to her feet, she backed away, eyeing the man like he was planning to shoot her too. The guy stepped over to the body and gave the ribs a solid kick.

'Bastard, and the cops think we're as bad as them. Hey, where you going?' Nat managed to work her feet to enough speed to run down the alley from the guy with the gun. But before she could reach the main road, he managed to grab a hold of her. 'Hey, chill out kid I'm not gonna hurt you.' He finally let her go when they were under the beam of a door light. Nat saw the guy was Asian, possibly Korean, and wearing a familiar shade of purple.

'You're a Saint.' She said, breathless, yet still eager to run. The leather jacket looked expensive and his shades were sleek, though there was a dark stain, possibly from the dead man's blood.

'My old lady wouldn't have called me that...' The guy chuckled, '...and you-holy shit.' Nat glared, uncertainly at the man, as he removed his shades to study her face. 'Ah fuck, even he can't be enough of an ignorant bastard to ignore who you look like.'

'What shit you talking about.' Nat panted.

'You kid. Now listen up, I'm taking you to meet the leader of the Third Street Saints.'

'Who the hell even are you?' Nat asked, realising her back was against a metaphorical wall here.

'I guess in lighter circumstances I'm your Uncle Johnny,' The man chuckled at his private joke, and Nat felt any chance of sanity slip away.


End file.
